


contact

by LegendaryArmor



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendaryArmor/pseuds/LegendaryArmor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zacharie allows the Batter to touch his face, explore it with fingers and lips, as long as the Batter keeps his eyes closed. [disfigured Zacharie. illustrations included.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on the OFF meme on Dreamwidth.

 

“Why do you wear that mask?”

Innocent as the question was, Zacharie visibly tensed. A thousand responses echoed through his mind, along with a wonder of his own - _why is he asking? Why the curiosity?_ His signature laugh sounded just a little forced as he took the Batter’s credits with clammy hands.

“Trust me, my friend, you don’t want to know.”

* * *

 

He could feel his eyes on him.

Strangely quiet, even for him, the Batter passed his money to the merchant, his calloused fingers lingering for a moment over the only visible part of Zacharie’s body. He was silent as he gave the purifier a new bat, his stance awkward and lacking the confidence he was known for.

The Batter turned to leave, but then came to a stop, his Add-Ons glowing behind him like beacons. Without turning back, he simply said,

“You should trust me.”

The solitude did not ease Zacharie’s mind.

* * *

 

_You should trust me._

The words repeated themselves over and over in his mind like a litany as the Batter continued to come and go as he needed. Sometimes, he was bleeding. Sometimes he was not. Always he was proud... not unlike a light in a dark and ugly world.

Credits and items changed hands, sparse words were shared, and meaningful glances were given before he turned his back on Zacharie for the hundredth time.

Hands clenched, the merchant stood alone.

_I can’t trust anyone._

* * *

 

_I want to trust you._

The world was growing ever more empty. The zones were colorless voids, devoid of hatred, of suffering, of life. One by one, the darkness of man and god fell to the Batter’s judgement.

Zacharie found his heart in turmoil. Was their time running out? He didn’t know. The Batter wanted to see beneath his mask, but he was no sight to behold. Perhaps then, his bat would find _him_ as its next target. Perhaps Zacharie would suffer no longer.

Yet...

As he waited for him in The Room, colorless and devoid of life, the fear almost felt far away.

_I’ll take my chances._

* * *

 

“Only if you keep your eyes closed.”

The Batter stopped counting his credits, glancing up to meet Zacharie’s eyes.

“What?”

A nervous shuffling of the feet. “My mask, dear Batter. You want me to remove it.”

The taller man paused.

“I thought you forgot.”

“Ha! Quite the opposite.” He wrung his hands, shifting from one foot to the other. “Such a request deserves careful consideration.”

A beat of silence. “Keep my eyes closed?”

“You are free to touch, but not to look.”

He drew closer to Zacharie, peering down into his dark eyes. His own seemed to glimmer red; a thrill of nervousness raced through the shorter of the two. “What reason do you have for hiding?”

A wag of a finger went along with a faux chuckle, and he ignored the chill that raced down his spine. “We all have our secrets, no? Even you.” _Especially you._ “Touch. But don’t look.”

The tense edge of the moment vanished after a second of silence; the Batter placed his weapon in his pack, and his eyes fell closed as he stood with his arms at his sides. “All right.”

Zacharie’s heart pounded so hard it near deafened him with its anxiety; with only slightly shaking hands, he twisted his fingers into the length of cord keeping his armor firmly against his shame. Hesitation made him pause, but then he found his courage and slid the mask from his face, letting it drop unceremoniously to the ground.

_Fear._ It was present, once more, but Zacharie railed against it. The Batter’s eyes remained closed, and the merchant drew closer to him, taking one of the hero’s hands into both of his own. Tentative, he brought it up to his face, placing the purifier’s calloused fingers directly onto his skin.

_Breathe._ The Batter’s fingers twitched, and he ran a thumb over one cheek. Grooves - scars? The skin submitting to his touch was twisted and uneven, rough in some parts and soft in others. _Easy now._ The touch over his nose was light as a feather, trailing over the crooked ridges hewn with tiny stripes of raised skin. _Relax_. His fingertips passed over Zacharie’s lips, along an unnatural edge in the chapped flesh, warm with his ragged breathing.

And then he drew _closer_ -

Zacharie started as the Batter’s lips found his cheek, surprisingly tender in their attention. They were warm against his twisted skin; almost reverently, he kissed the jagged, crooked corners of the merchant’s mouth.

“Who has made you suffer?”

A beat of silence.

“Too many.”

A calloused thumb ran over his gnarled cheek, and still the Batter’s eyes remained closed.

His breath tickled Zacharie’s face as he pressed another kiss to the other side of his lips. “Never again.” He whispered it, his mouth so close to the merchant’s that their lips just barely touched, brushing gently across one another as he spoke.

“Will you protect me, hero?” Zacharie meant for the hoarse words to sound like a jest, but they came out with a hopeful edge that he could not quench. The Batter’s lips found a crook in his nose, a ragged edge in his jaw, a dip in his chin that did not belong.

“None shall bring you harm.”

There was silence but for their breathing and beating hearts, the Batter’s caresses ever tender, before Zacharie spoke again.

“You are not disgusted with my features, dear friend?”

A thumb over a scar, a brush of lips over unnaturally rough skin. “Wounds do not equal impurity.” He pressed their foreheads together, noses touching. “You suffered. But you remain strong.”

“I’m just a merchant-”

“You are beautiful.”

Stilled by the conviction in the Batter’s voice, Zacharie fell quiet once more. He was a holy man - there was no doubt he was telling what he felt to be the truth. But the words had blindsided him. _Beautiful?_

It was the last thing he’d expected.

A calloused thumb traced again along the twisted expanse of his cheek, then paused before going higher. With one gentle touch, the Batter brushed away the tear that trickled from Zacharie’s eye. The merchant hung his head both in shame and relief; he felt the threads of the baseball uniform against his forehead, and the Batter drew him closer, cradling him against his chest with the care of a saint. _Warmth._

No more tears fell. They stayed like that for a while - the flow of time ceased to have meaning, there in that dead white room. And yet, for all the feeling of hope and safety the Batter had blessed him with in such a short exchange, he felt a profound sense of terror infringing once more on the edges of his consciousness. It was anyone’s guess what fate awaited them beyond the final door - and if Zacharie had learned anything at all, it was that the world did not have a penchant for happy endings.

His fingers bunched in the cool fabric of the baseball jersey as he gripped him just a little more tightly.

“Would you come back for me?” he whispered.

The Batter’s lips were tender on his own.

“If I am able.”

He drew back, just a little, pulling his hat snugly onto his head. Zacharie watched him take his bat from his pack, eyes yet remaining closed. Slowly, the merchant retrieved his mask and pulled it back down over his visage, and reached out to touch the other man’s face.

Finally, he opened his eyes. They gleamed with determination, with _purpose_. Wordlessly, he pressed one last kiss to the mouth of the merchant's mask.

 

Anxiety curled in Zacharie's gut. “Post Tenebras Lux,” he whispered.

The Batter nodded, and walked towards the door. For the first time, the tiniest sliver of doubt edged into his mind. He remembered the feel of the merchant’s face beneath his touch, scarred and trusting and desperately hopeful. The moment bent his shoulders with the weight of his bloodshed, of his purpose. He paused, in one last hesitation, and called over his shoulder -

“Au plaisir de te voir, entendre ta voix.”

And with that, he opened the door.


	2. Chapter 2

  
**The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.** _\- Carl Jung_  


 

_ad infinitum._


End file.
